Here's something I wrote for Classic Boat some years ago. It ended up with me rebuilding the mast in a cow shed, 9 miles up a Highland track, a project I still feel proud of undertaking. The mast is still standing, the scarphed top section still solid.

John Ridgway – a near neighbour to us, as it happens – may have been the first to row the Atlantic, and Sir Ranulph Fiennes is about to trek to the pole in winter, but no-one to my knowledge has until now sailed around the British Isles with a broken mast, surely an achievement that ranks with the best of them, and more laudable for the fact that it went largely unrecorded, save for a brief note in the (Royal) Loch Broom blog**

This is the stuff of legend; the kind of stiff upper lip in the face of adversity we associate with our great country. What made an empire and won the war. Many a yachtsman with full and detailed preparation has circumnavigated our shores, some of them in astonishing times, others in a variety of craft both suitable and frankly ludicrous. There has probably been a fellow who did it in a bath tub, or  in a Citroen 2cv fitted with sails. Neil and Maddy Scobie with little on no preparation, save a trip to Costcutters for provisions, did it in a classic 43ft yacht designed by the Jack Giles called Lobie II. And for much of the voyage they were lacking a vital part of her, namely the top 10ft of her mast.

It was off Lowestoft that it all came crashing (literally) to the deck. One minute hard on the wind in a lumpy sea; the next a sharp report, more like the cracking of splintered spruce, and a chunk of it landed at Maddy’s feet, narrowly missing her head.

That was when the phone call came. “Hi, it’s Maddy. We’ve broken our mast,” rose a disembodied voice out of the North Sea. “What do you suggest?”

Well, I thought quickly, best get into a safe haven as fast as you can, call the local boatyard, have the rig pulled and Lobie transported home on a trailer. With barely a quarter of the round trip completed there was not much of a case to be made for continuing.

And that is where I left them: joggling about in the North Sea with the top of their mast on deck, no doubt swathed in a welter of sailcoth and stainless steel rigging.

A few days later their daughter called. “How they getting on? Have they pulled the mast yet? How are they planning to get her back home?” The answer was surprising, but typical of the spirit of adventure you would expect from a couple steeped in the old ways of doing things. Typical of a man who wears shorts in mid-winter and once worked with Ridgway. To borrow Henry Paget, 1^st Marquess of Anglesey’s remark to Wellington at Waterloo when a shot took off his leg: “We seem to have lost our mast,” says Neil.

“My goodness,” says Maddy. “So we have...” And soldier (sailor) on.

It was fully in keeping with  Blondie Hasler’s view, who famously suggested that those who sailed alone and got into trouble should be prepared to drown like gentlemen. In this case drowning was not a serious prospect; more like a huge repair bill and a low-loader up the M1.

“Oh they never mentioned the mast,” says the daughter.  “They’ve have found a tree surgeon.They’re in France now up some river having a great time. Apparently I’m to send out a smaller jib. And some Oxford marmalade.”

Next thing, Lobie was back on her mooring with the jagged stump above her top spreaders an unlikely perch for a herring gull. Maddy and Neil were rowing ashore. They had enjoyed a storming sail up the Irish Sea, too fast to stop, they said. And the mast? They had kept the pieces and reckoned it could all be glued back again.

Of course the mast would need pulling, but they would do that alongside the pier and Neil would strap it to an old Massey Ferguson, with no brakes, tax or insurance, and drag it 10 miles up the glen to their lodge in the hills. After all, if you’ve just sailed round Britain without an important section of what drives you then getting the rest of it, all 60ft mind you, up a potholed, single track, unmade road in the Highlands is really no big deal.

 It's been a while since I posted. I guess that gliding took over sailing, although I have been asked to write about the similarities between the two (answer: not as many as you may think.) With at least four of my former journalistic colleagues flying gliders, it seems that something rubs off. But to me it's just the sense of being reliant on the elements, rather than L/D, angles of attack and spurious comparisons between wings and sails.

 

Launched

Sally's 82-year refit concluded this morning at 7.30, when she was slipped back into the waters of Loch Broom. She's had a survey, a keel bolt dropped (pristine and singing like new after 20 years) topsides primed, filled and painted, coachroof glassed, antifouled, new shaft bearing, mast revarnished. And a lot more besides. Not a sign of a seam, thanks to Mr Elkins and his men in 1937, headed by the legendary Reg Yebbseley (who died just a few months after I bought her way back in the lat 1990s.)

The weather helped, with a smattering a good day, punctuated by the usual West Coast stuff. Enough good days to allow everything to be done, with a few days to spare. Oh, and the rudder was rebuilt, tiller repaired and stuffing box refurbished.


I also raked the mast forward a touch, not to improve balance, but simply for aesthetics. She's always had a boldly raked mast, which I have often thought was a bit too bold.

After a month out of the water she leaked not a drop, the little 1GM 10 started third push and full marks Messrs Johnson and Loftus for a totally trouble free experience. If the yard was on Trip Advisor I'd give them 11/10.

Danger! Before you Scrape off your old Antifouling.

No, not the toxins or the dust (wear a mask and goggles or scrape upwind) but the danger you might pose to other people if you are of a malicious temperament.

After buying a scraper tool from a well know retailer  on line, I had an email from the sales team asking for my passport. 

I will say that again, ... asking to see my passport. 

It appears that anyone buying a paint scraper must prove they are over 16,  and thus not prone to go on a raging, hormone-fuelled teenage rampage, armed with a... scraper. 

I could not believe it. Ah, but it was true. No passport; no scraper. No amount of pleading. Did I sound like a 16-year old hoodlum? Clearly yes (which was a bit of a boost to my 60+-year-old ego). 

In the end I sent them a photo of my passport, and received my scraper. 

OK, it's the law, not the company. However, to date I have not heard of anyone being threatened, or injured maliciously by a paint scraper (which could, I admit, validate the passport requirement). 

The blades, by the way, would not have cut a hard cheese and, if anyone is planning to use them to scrape a boat, save your money. I believe, in fact, the blades themselves were made of cheese, Chinese cheddar. 

I imagine it would have been the same if I had ordered a screw driver, no doubt to stab myself in the eye, self harm or even, god forbid, extract a screw.

New Title, New Start

I hope I won't lose too many followers, all of whom I am grateful to for, er following. Boat building may have ceased but life, and sailing (and gliding - more of that later) goes on.

With more (too much) time now on my hands, attention turned at last to long suffering Sally, my 82-year-old Vertue which has been putting up with my neglect for a few years now. Finally the other day, after a couple of weeks away over Christmas, she decided she had had enough, and when I fired up the little Yanmar, decided to seize her propeller shaft.

She was clearly telling me something, viz: "I want to go ashore and get some proper TLC."

Which is why as I write she is sitting on the hard at Johnson & Loftus yard in Ullapool, with 20 years of antifouling in dust around her, and another 10 years scraping to go.

The bearing has also been removed (white metal) and as luck would have it,  a standard Westerly cutlass bearing should fit the housing.

The mast is out too, and I have to say it has done well despite being exposed to Highland weather for nearly ten years since it was last out. But then I did lay on about 30 coats of varnish, having primed it with a two part International clear finish.

I am in two minds whether to take the rest of the antifouling off, or just consolidate. Either way I have bought 5 litres of Strippit; a Bosch scraper and some chemical called trisodium phosphate, one of which should do the trick. It would certainly be nice to see all that pitch pine again, before covering it in underwater primer.

With so much of Sally under the water, it really does pay to have the smoothest possible hull.

Last Post

While posting yesterday I had a look, for the first time in a while, at all the comments over the years. I did not realise how many there were, and all but a few complimentary.

So to all those who posted comments, I have now read them all, and thank you for taking the time, and apologies for not replying.

Farewell Viking Boats

With the workshop now resounding to the cries of turkeys, rather than the cacophony of nails and band saws, Viking Boats is now officially defunct after over 15 years.

It was never a reliable means to make a living, but kept the wolves from the door, and its owner busy in the dark winter days when most of the 25 or so boats were built.

Off to Lake Geneva

I can't say I miss those dawn starts, chipping ice off the chisels - well, you know what I mean. In the early years the cold never bothered me. The activity soon warmed you up, although visitors would invariably ask: "How can you work in the cold like this".

Well, no more. It is 8am on a freezing morning, and I am typing this in my pyjamas.

So, to all my clients, who have to the man and woman been totally trusting and a delight to work with, thank you. I have not had a single bad debt in all that time. Payments have often arrived before the work was done, which meant it was spent by the time it was done, leaving me almost always in arrears and in the red.

Also now on Lake Geneva, here at Beale Park

 Boat building will never make you a fortune, unless you start with a fortune as some fortunately have. But among the lawyers, estate agents, accountants and office workers, building a wooden boat carries enormous cachet. You are considered amongst the lucky elite, to be working with your hands, no matter how far from reality and romance that can be on a bitter morning in January with a recalcitrant strake refusing to yield to gentle persuasion.

Owners became friends, some of whom stayed with us before, during and after taking their boat home. As far as I know none have sunk, or sprung unquenchable leaks, but I must admit that some could have been built better. There's always room for improvement, and being largely self taught, I did enjoy finding new, sometimes unconventional ways to do things, some of which worked well, others not so, leading to a reversion to the old, trusted ways.

My favourite: a faering in solid larch, with copper fastenings and oak frames

 However, although old and trusted ways are often the best ways, that is not always the case, so I would urge budding boat buildiers to trust their own instincts. The old and trusted ways may simply have become ingrained habits, and after taking apart many old wooden boats, you often find old and trusted ways have in fact contributed to the deterioration you find deep inside the structure.

And if you do need a mentor, someone to keep you honest, then I can highly recommend my own, personal guru, Tom Whitfield in Australia. We have never met, and may never meet, but his encouragement has been beyond compare.

And to the late John Leather, wherever you are, when you told me that boat building would be a thankless and unrewarding business, you were not far wrong. But I urge anyone keen to try their hand, to go for it, whatever the rewards or thanks. The satisfaction of seeing a boat you built is all the thanks and reward anyone needs.